She glared at him, not sure which remark to respond to first. "Bah! I will say, bah and zhis and zhat and speak 'owever I wish as it is only you, Aubrey, and you don't count."
"Well I like that!" Aubrey replied, with a look of reproach.
"And who says I look like this Venus? 'Ow dare they! The woman is naked," she hissed at him in outrage.
"Blakeney made the observation, though Trenchard was quick enough to agree with him," he said, scowling.
Céleste huffed and then looked at Aubrey with growing interest. "Is that why Lord Blakeney had a black eye when 'e was 'ere last?"
Aubrey flushed and looked uncomfortable. "Well dash it all, a fellow can't allow chaps to go likening his grandmother's guest to a ... a ... well he can't that's all."
Céleste beamed at him and leaned over, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Thank you, Aubrey, you are très galant."
"You're welcome," Aubrey replied, nodding.
"But why did you not give Viscount Trenchard a black eye also?" she asked with a little moue of displeasure.
Aubrey tutted. "Because it dashed well hurt," he replied, presenting his bruised knuckles for her inspection. She gave him an indulgent smile, the kind she might have reserved for a beloved younger brother. For that was really how she saw him. For all that he was three years her senior, his life had been far more sheltered than hers, and she often felt that she needed to protect him from realities of life that he seemed completely oblivious to. She gave his knuckles a gentle pat in thanks for his gallantry but then remembered a darker night, and a darker man. She remembered taking Alex's large, scarred hand to her mouth and kissing each knuckle in turn until he snatched it away from her. She gave a heavy sigh as longing threatened to overwhelm her. It had been six long and lonely months since she had last seen him and every day she felt she was further away from ever making him hers.
"You're very wrong in any case, Aubrey," she said, looking out across the orchard and the dappled shadows that sheltered them from the worst of the scorching sun. "Alex is only being kind. He doesn't care about me." She couldn't seem to help the pitiful sound of her words but regretted them as she glanced up to see Aubrey giving her a very odd look.
"Fellows don't go about giving ladies dozens of pairs of shoes if they don't care about them," he said with a reproving tone that was quite out of character. "Nor sweetmeats, and acres of silk! You do know that it was wholly inappropriate?"
"Why?" she demanded, cross on Alex's behalf, even though her heart had lifted at his words.
"Because you don't go giving unmarried ladies gifts of personal items, that's why!" he said, sounding really quite cross, though at her or at Alex she wasn't quite sure.
Céleste frowned. "But Aunt Seymour allowed it."
"Yes." Aubrey scowled and began to pull up tufts of dry grass in a distracted manner. "And that's dashed odd as well." He looked up at her and she saw intelligence glimmering in the warm hazel eyes. For all that Aubrey played up to his carefree, devil may care image, she knew that at heart he was a serious and loyal friend to her. "You're in love with him aren't you?" he said.
She felt a flush spread from her cheeks, down across her neck and picked up her fan, hiding behind it and waving it with quick, anxious waves of her wrist. "Aubrey! What ever do you mean? Don't be so foolish ... I ... I ..." She huffed and snapped the fan shut. "Oh dear, is it still so obvious?"
Aubrey snorted. "Rather."
"Oh, Aubrey," she wailed. I'm so un'appy. I miss 'im dreadfully. You see 'e isn't at all the dreadfully cold man you think 'e is. Well, not to me at least."
She looked over at Aubrey who was regarding her with a mixture of appalled curiosity and pity. "Does he love you then?"
Céleste sighed and wished that was a question she could answer with any kind of certainty. "I was led to believe, by someone close to 'im that ... that he does, yes, but ..." She threw up her hands in frustration. "But 'e 'as left me alone for six month, and I think perhaps 'e will forget me."
Aubrey raised an enquiring eyebrow. "By sending you dozens of boxes of marzipan fruits, three dozen pairs of silk slippers and framing the drawing you sent him and putting it somewhere he can see it every day? Oh yes,” he replied with a shrewd glint in his eyes. "Those are the actions of a man who's totally indifferent to you."
Céleste blinked at him and sat up on her knees, hardly daring to hope. "You ... you think perhaps 'e ... 'e is in love with me?"
Aubrey laughed and shook his head. "I don't see why he shouldn't be. It seems to be an affliction suffered by any other male who gets within a mile of you."
Céleste huffed and shook her head. "Oh, yes but they are just silly young men, they are of no importance."
"Ooof!" he said, striking his hand over his heart. "If I repeated those words there would be hearts breaking from here to London. God help the male of the species when you make your come out, that's all I'll say, you heartless creature."
"Oh, Aubrey, don't tease me so, you are really very provoking today." She picked up her fan again and began to wave it in an irritable manner.
"Well then, so you're after an earl are you?" he said, clearly determined to tease her some more. She glared at him through narrowed eyes.
"If you are implying I love 'im for 'is fortune or title I will strike you," she scolded, wielding the fan at him with an air of menace.
Aubrey held out his hands in the manner of someone who knew well she wasn't jesting. "I wouldn't dare! Besides I know you better than that." He lay back down on the picnic blanket with a sigh, squinting up into the sunlight. "But what are you going to do about it? I mean if he was going to offer for you he would have done it by now wouldn't he?"
She gave him a very dark look as he echoed her own fears back at her. "Non, because 'e thinks I am too young and innocent."
Aubrey choked and was obliged to sit up again, gasping for breath. "Sorry," he said, waving a hand as she moved to pound him on the back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to," he replied, looking rueful as she glared at him. "I mean I know you are but ..."
He shrugged and she knew he was remembering the stories she'd told him about her life, especially her time working at Madame Maxime's. He had been at turns outraged, amused, thoroughly scandalised and full of admiration for her. He had also made her promise, on pain of death, to never, ever repeat the story to another living soul as long as she lived.
"Oui," she said with a shrug. "You are quite right. I am far from the sweet little innocent I should be, and yet he insists on believing that I am." She gave another hopeless sigh and started with surprise as he covered her hand with his own.
"No, Céleste, Falmouth has the right of it. Despite everything, you are both sweet and remarkably innocent in many ways," he said, his voice soft. "Any fool can see that."
She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "Oh, Aubrey, why can't I fall in love with you, it would be so much more convenient."
Aubrey snatched his hand back and affected a look of utter horror. "Good Lord, what an appalling notion, I forbid you to ever repeat it again."
Céleste laughed, knowing and secretly thankful for the fact that he looked on her with nothing more than sisterly affection. For she was discovering that having gentlemen declaring their undying love for you and spouting sonnets at every turn was really very wearying.
Chapter 22
"Wherein recklessness brings misery and hope."
"Mousy!" Lawrence regarded his former quartermaster with sincere pleasure as the big man stood in the doorway of his study. "Well this is a surprise, come in, come in."
Lawrence ushered the man into the room and frowned as he noticed the man was ill at ease. "Well don't look so terrified, Henri is taking walk around the gardens and I am fairly sure that Annie is attending her so you're safe for the moment."
Mousy snorted and shook his head. "Nah, t'aint that, Capt'n, though I'd as soon not see Annie, t'is true. She ain't best pleased with me at the moment."
Lawrence raised an
eyebrow and gestured for Mousy to sit as he took a chair himself. "Well if it isn't Annie that's brought you back to France looking so shifty, what is it?"
"It's 'is lordship, Capt'n," Mousy said, never one to prevaricate.
"Oh?"
"Aye, 'e's been shot."
"What?" Lawrence was up and out of his chair, fear lancing through him as Mousy raised his hands.
"'E's alright, 'e'll live," Mousy said, rubbing the back of his neck with a ham sized fist. "This time," he added with a dark expression.
Lawrence let out a breath as Mousy's words registered.
"You're sure? It isn't serious?"
Mousy shrugged. "Got 'im in the arm, broke it but the doc reckons it'll mend clean as long as 'e lets it rest."
Lawrence snorted, knowing how likely it was that Alex would be inclined to do anything of the sort. "What did you mean?" he asked, looking at Mousy with concern. "This time?"
He watched as the hulking figure of his ex-quartermaster settled himself more comfortably on the fine chair he had managed to fit on. The elegant rosewood legs looked as though they might shatter under his bulk at any moment.
"Well," Mousy began, his ruddy face serious. "T'aint really my place to say but ..."
"Oh, spit it out, man," Lawrence snapped. "You've clearly got something to say and I trust your judgement in all things, you know that. So let's hear it."
Mousy let out a breath and nodded. "The night 'e was shot. I tol' 'im not to come. Things are getting harder, ye see. The Revenue 'ave got more men, an they're gettin' canny. T'is a great risk now, bringin' in a run. More 'n ever afore. Now for me 'n the lads, 'tis our way of life one way or another. We ain't got option to do nought else. But yer brother ..."
"Is putting himself at risk for no good reason?" Lawrence surmised, with a feeling akin to ice water sliding down his spine.
"Aye, that's about the long n' the short o' it."
Lawrence got up and poured them both a drink, putting the glass in Mousy's hand as he returned to his seat. "Henri has expressed a wish to return to England for the birth," he said, staring down into the tawny liquid with a thoughtful expression. "If we are to go then we must leave in the next few days so it appears I will be able to speak to my idiot brother before he gets himself killed."
He looked up to see a weight fall away from Mousy's huge shoulders. "Thank God," he said, with obvious relief. "I done what I can, Capt'n, but I don't know 'im like I know you, an what with 'im being an earl andall ... I'm always tryin' to watch me tongue."
Lawrence snorted with amusement. "Well then, I must return for no other reason than to see you try your hand at diplomacy."
Mousy grimaced and knocked back his drink in one large swallow. "Laugh it up while ye may, 'is lordship might get a sight more respect, but if ye think I won't tell ye when ye'r being a fat-headed numbskull ye've got another think comin'." Lawrence laughed as Mousy got to his feet and executed a mocking bow. "Capt'n," the big man said with a grave tone.
Reaching out to clasp Mousy's hand he shook it and gave the man a warm smile. "Thank you, Mousy, for coming to tell me."
Mousy shrugged and nodded. "Didn't want the stupid bugger t' get 'is head blowed off fer no good reason."
Lawrence watched Mousy duck out of the corridor and practically run through the gardens before his wife's marriage-hungry maid caught sight of him. With a heavy sigh he wondered what the devil he was supposed to do about his older brother and his escalating recklessness. He was only too aware of what lay at the heart of the problem, but he wasn't sure what the hell he was supposed to do about it.
***
August 25th. Glebe House. Hertfordshire.
Dear Lord Falmouth,
Sir, I am very, very put out with you. I have heard just this morning that you have been injured and your arm is broke! Not only that but that it happened a full three weeks ago and you have mentioned nothing of it to me. I had hoped you considered me your trusted friend; how could you leave me in such ignorance of your pain. I am deeply wounded that you would not confide such a thing to me. I demand that you write to me by return and reassure me as to your well being.
Your sincere friend,
Célestine Lavelle.
August 28th Tregothnan. Cornwall
My dear Lady Lavelle,
Please forgive me if I have caused you any distress. I assure you that it was as far from my intent as is possible to imagine. I am indeed quite well excepting the broken arm, happily not my right, which I am assured will mend with no problem if left to its own devices. I must admit at this point that the injury was entirely the result of my own foolishness and stubborn nature (of which I believe you are well acquainted) and this perhaps is why I strove to keep the matter to myself. I can, in utter truthfulness, assure you that I would never for a moment doubt the sincerity of your friendship, nor I hope would you doubt the value and esteem in which I hold the honour of such a friend.
Your sincere friend and guardian,
Falmouth.
***
"Get off me, you blithering idiot!" Alex roared at the hapless doctor who had been foolish enough as to try and examine his broken arm to see how it was mending.
The good doctor blanched but returned to his dignity in the space of a few moments, having been well acquainted with both his lordship and a variety of his injuries since the earl had been in short trousers and had attended him when he returned from the battle of Trafalgar. Alex scowled at him nonetheless, fed up with being poked and prodded. His arm was bloody painful and a damned nuisance besides. If it wasn't bad enough that he'd had to endure days of being talked at and lectured by both his younger brother and his wife for the past ten days, now he had to put up with this meddlesome physician.
Thank God that the two of them had gone to visit the aunts before Henri's confinement began, which, God help him, was going to be here at Tregothnan. He wondered with a shudder if his vast property was large enough to allow him to miss the event entirely.
"Perhaps I should bleed his lordship," the doctor volunteered, with admirable courage in the circumstances. "Your colour is really a little high for my liking."
"Out!" Alex yelled in fury. "Get out, you damned leech. All I need is a little peace and quiet."
With remarkable forbearance, and after no little pleading by his physician, Alex did at least agree to let the doctor bind his arm again and leave him bottle of laudanum to help with the pain. Once he'd managed to get rid of old fool, Alex retired to his room clutching the laudanum, a bottle of brandy and last two of Céleste's letters to him.
Slamming the door shut with his foot, he walked to the bed and took a moment to light the lamp before he settled down with a glass of brandy and carefully withdrew Céleste's latest missive from its envelope.
Closing his eyes he held it to his nose and inhaled. She had begun wearing perfume sometime in May, and the heady scent now invaded his dreams, tormenting his senses and adding another layer of misery to the dark world he seemed to inhabit. He stared at the bold, looping handwriting and wished he had both the nerve and the selfishness to send the heartfelt letter he had written in reply, instead of burning it as honour demanded. With an aching heart he returned his attention to the letter.
September 2nd
Glebe House. Hertfordshire.
Dearest Alex,
Please forgive me. I know I ought not address you so, nor write anything in such a shockingly familiar fashion but I must. I saw dearest Henri today and my heart was so delighted to see one I have the good fortune to consider as close to me as a sister. Although I was all happiness at her obvious good health and excitement at her condition, I was thrown into the deepest agitation by her words. For she told me just how you were injured, and now I cannot sleep for fear of you coming to further harm. Please, my Lord, if you have the slightest regard for me, your truest friend, please do not put yourself in harm's way in this fashion again. I cannot tell you how you have deprived me of my peace of mind and I beg you to have a care.<
br />
Please write to me and assure me that you will heed my words and save me from further anxiety, for I would never recover from the loss of such a friend as you.
Yours ever,
Céleste.
He stared at the words so long they began to blur and a tightness wound itself around his chest. Raising the brandy to his lips he took a large mouthful but found it hard to swallow past the lump in his throat. She still cared for him. No matter that his investigations had returned information that she and his handsome young cousin were inseparable. No matter that there were rumours that every man who set eyes on her was bewitched by her beauty, and the ton was abuzz with questions about the mysterious comtesse. No matter that when she finally came out next year she would be hailed as a diamond of the first water and she could have her pick of any eligible man at the snap of her fingers. She still cared for him. He pressed the letter against his heart and closed his eyes, wondering how the hell he was going to manage to stand and watch as every man with a pulse stared at her and plotted to make her his own.
He prayed that she would make her choice swiftly, so the pain would be clean and sharp instead of this lingering wound that festered and ate away at him. At least once she was married there would be no going back, no point in endless regrets and fruitless dreams and wishes. She would have made her choice, and he would have to live with it.
September 5th
Tregothnan. Cornwall.
My dearest Lady Lavelle,
It pains me far more than any physical discomfort to know that I have been the cause of any anguish on your part. Please assure yourself that my life has been led in much the same way for many years now, and I am well capable of looking after myself. The night in question, I was indeed foolish and stubborn and I promise you that I will endeavour to keep myself from such behaviour in the future. I regret to inform you, however, that both foolishness and stubbornness have long been engrained in my nature, as I am sure you are only too aware.
The Earl's Temptation Page 18